


Living In A Bomb Shelter

by surfgirl (verushka70)



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Heavy Angst, Love Triangles, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-26
Updated: 1999-03-26
Packaged: 2018-11-11 05:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/surfgirl
Summary: Fraser and Ray Vecchio have another secret tryst, but the pressure on Ray is proving more than he can bear. Ending things will hurt Fraser. Not ending them could hurt him even more. To continue risks exposing Armando Langostini as an undercover Chicago cop. A certain blond detective surreptitiously follows Fraser, wondering who Fraser is seeing and what it means tohisrelationship with Fraser.





	Living In A Bomb Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> This story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). It has not been changed (nor will it be) on import to the AO3, except to more appropriately or descriptively tag, and to fix broken web links. Ever so grateful to [Open Doors](http://opendoors.transformativeworks.org/) and to [Speranza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza), for making the archive import to AO3 happen. TYK!
> 
> This is sort of an unofficial sequel to [The Burnham Triangle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11141730), which I never finished and never will. I do apologize for that.
> 
> The unofficial sequel to this is [Everything](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2520392).

Disclaimer: Alliance Communications owns the characters of Constable Fraser, Ray Vecchio, and Ray Kowalski.

 

****

Living in a Bomb Shelter

 

The detective with the close cropped hair sat morosely on the sagging motel bed. Shirt tails out, Italian silk jacket slung over the back of an overstuffed chair, he fingered the creases in his pants, and cleared his throat.

"You know, Benny..."

"What, Ray?" asked the Mountie, lying half across the foot of the bed, supported on one elbow. First he toyed with the buttons on his flannel shirt, then fingered the collar of his plain white T-shirt, both lying in front of him on the bed. His Stetson sat on the end table by the head of the bed. 

Ray Vecchio sighed, slipping out of his shirt. Why am I getting mad at him? he thought, glancing sideways at the slight flexing of milky biceps and triceps and lats, a small symphony of beauty, orchestrated all for a nervous fussing with buttons. I got no right to get mad at him. More like, the other way around.

Ray balled up his shirt defiantly and threw it onto the overstuffed chair. It didn't matter -- Nero would have the wrinkles out the next time Ray pulled it from his closet. He stood up suddenly. The resulting imbalance on the bed left Fraser's end shaking like a car with bad shock absorbers.

"Nothin'. Nevermind. Be right back." 

Detective Vecchio skirted the issue and the Mountie by walking to the bathroom, all cracked pink tile and a door that wouldn't shut all the way. He paused, looking at himself in the mirror. In his sleeveless tee-shirt, his hair cropped close to deny the fact that it was quickly disappearing, his huge shnoz as usual taking up most of the real estate on his face, he wondered what on earth Fraser had ever seen in him. Wondered how he'd ever gotten the idea that Fraser might be remotely interested. Marveled, as he looked closer and saw how bloodshot his green eyes were, that the Mountie had responded. That first time, and all the times since. 

He stepped over to the toilet, seat already up from the maid's visit prior to their entry into the room. Unbuckling, unbuttoning and unzipping, he pulled himself out to piss and wondered glumly how he was going to do this. He'd tried and failed to bring it up a few times before. But he had to say something tonight. It was wrong, he knew, wrong to go on like this. These sudden surprise visits, the nerve-wracking decoy for the bodyguards and chauffeur aside, what really made his stomach churn in need of Pepto-Bismal was knowing that each time, each _additional_ time, he was lying to Benny. 

 

Shaking off and re-packaging himself, Ray set his jaw. It was all wrong, everything, but the wrongest wrong part was the way he was lying to Benny. And he didn't even mean to lie. It was just that he couldn't bring himself to say anything, to correct Fraser's assumptions about him. About them. He had to say something, sooner or later. He felt the questions Fraser didn't ask in the weight of his gaze. In the quiet pauses during the conversations. In the far off look in Benny's eyes, when they looked at Ray, and then they looked somewhere else while they still looked right at Ray, but didn't see him.

He pulled the door open rather too forcefully. The knob slipped out of his fingers and slammed into the bathroom wall. Fraser started on the bed, and turned to look over his shoulder at Ray.

"Ray?"

"It was an accident, Benny. Didn't mean it." He ground his teeth. Damnit! 

"Oh," Fraser said, looking back at his flannel shirt.

"Sorry."

"It's quite alright, Ray."

"I'm just... jumpy."

"Understandably." Ray heard the reproach ('You shouldn't even be here, Ray -- it's dangerous') and the longing ('Must you leave so soon?') in that one word reply. He sighed, walking across the room to the beige overstuffed chair and throwing himself into it.

Fraser lifted his eyebrows, in silent query as to what troubled his lover. 

"Benny. Look. I don't know how to say this..."

The Mountie looked guardedly at the detective, then sat up uneasily on the foot of the bed, gathering up his flannel

shirt.

"You know, I hate coming to these places. They're so sleazy and the crack whores and the pimps and drug dealers and cheating husbands and wives all come here," Ray burst out. 

That hadn't been what he'd meant to say. But it was something he'd thought many times.

"It does... require a certain detachment from the decor and the surroundings to... truly enjoy oneself," Constable Benton

Fraser observed. He looked over at Ray, his brow knitting.

"It just... kind of... makes it all a little creepy," Ray sighed.

"Yes, but, the environment is only as ugly as we believe it to be. Or as lovely as we're willing to see. Every place has something beautiful about it." Fraser cleared his throat nervously. "There was an outstanding amaryllis on the manager's desk. In bloom. I, uh, once had an amaryllis, but my skills as a horticulturist were never good enough to get it to bloom," he smiled wistfully.

More of the Pollyanna stuff. The thing was, he knew Fraser really believed it. He wondered if Fraser really could close out all the ugliness, the seedy traffic slowing down for the local girls, and see it as beautiful because it was where he and Ray came to be together. 

Probably. You could see it in the man's utter lack of phoniness. If Fraser saw it as ugly, you'd see it on his face. But you never did. He always looked secretly pleased, though he stammered sometimes, and tended to blush. He always seemed nervous as a virgin bridegroom, and usually checked the room very carefully for any sort of irregularity. But then he'd get that bashfully flirtatious, mischievous look that begged Ray to seduce him. Sometimes the mischievousness was pure, undiluted by any shyness, and it was Ray who was seduced. 

Fraser never looked disgusted, put out, unhappy, angry or otherwise bothered by the utterly graceless decor of these places; or their frequently pathetic patrons; or the moral implications of the activities that went on in the rooms; or the potential dangers of being in the near vicinity of drug addicts, cut-throats and thieves. Ray knew he saw it, but since he knew the Mountie was a terrible liar, he knew that Fraser's cheeriness was genuine, no matter which fleabag motel they went to. 

Here goes. Time to use some of that Armando Langostini take-charge attitude and spit it out. Ray ran his hands over his face, over his cropped hair, covering his eyes. Some take-charge attitude, he thought. I can't even _face_ him. He looked up, but in order not to look at Benny, he stared across the room at the bathroom, at the horrible pink ceramic tile. He could see it quiet clearly because he'd forgotten to turn the light off. 

"Fraser..."

"Yes, Ray?"

"I, uh, I--"

"Um... yes?"

Deep breath.

"Guys like me can't be what guys like you need, Benny. That's how it goes. And guys like you have to find guys who _can_ give you what you need. Instead of hurting you."

"You haven't hurt me, Ray."

Huh. Figures. Doesn't even ask me what I'm talking about. Like he already knows. Just goes right into the conversation blind, like he's already onto the topic, before I've even spelled it out.

"I will."

"How?"

"You know how. I can't _do_ this, Benny. I mean, I _can_ , but only up to a point. My family can _never_ know. And every time \-- every moment we spend together like this - makes it more and more likely they'll find out. It would kill my mother. It would kill her. I can't do that." Ray shook his head. "Not to mention the Mob'll kill me first if they find out," he muttered.

"And?"

"And what?"

"I just thought that was an unspoken 'And...' pause."

"Don't make me feel like more of a jerk than I already do, Benny. You know it's true. What did you think, that we were gonna move in together in a nice place off Halsted?" 

"No, Ray, actually, I hadn't thought that far ahead. Actually I have made a great effort not to think that far ahead."

"Good."

"While I have my own reasons for believing that's 'good' from an existential perspective, why do _you_ say it's 'good'?"

"So you didn't get your hopes up, only to have me dash them."

"Well, there's a difference between hopes and dreams. Or hopes and wishes."

"Benny, don't tell me you... tell me you didn't think we were going to live a fairy-tale happily ever after like that."

"Not exactly like that, no..."

"Ah, jeeze! I knew it. I _knew_ it. I'm sorry! Benny, I am so sorry. I know I let you down but believe me, it's better that you know now. It's better than--"

"I know, Ray. I know what it's better than. I didn't think it would be a completely trouble-free existence together. It hasn't been thus far. I appreciate your candor."

"You appreciate my _candor_?"

"Your honesty?"

"Well... I guess that's good." 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

"So I guess you're really mad at me."

"No, Ray, I'm not."

"Really disappointed in me."

"No, I'm not."

"How can you not be?"

"I know you, Ray."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're just being... you."

"What? I'm just being me? Meaning, I'm just being the jerk that I am?"

"No, no. You're just being You. Who you are. The person you can't not be."

"What are you talking about? I'm breaking your heart here, and you're being so understanding. I hate that! Can't we fight like normal people?"

"It would be... futile, wouldn't it? A leopard can't change his spots. And I can not change you. And though it might be nice for a while to mold you into what I think I might want, in the end it would be bad for both of us.

You wouldn't really be the man I fell in love with. You'd be someone else. Someone you wanted to be not for yourself, but only for me. Or only for what I think I might want, but I'm not sure is _really_ what I'd want. And that's a burden you could only carry for so long, before..."

"Before..."

"Before dropping it."

 

 -----------------------------------

 

 

"So you do understand."

"I do."

"Then why do I feel so _awful_? I'm telling you it can't work, that I love you, but-- But I feel so bad about this! I say you should stop loving me, you have to give me up, that it's pretty much _over_... and you understand.

But you _really_ understand. I should be glad you understand. I should be relieved I'm getting off this easy. But I feel like such a jerk! You should hate me, you should be kicking me out of bed, you should be comparing me to--"

"You're _nothing_ like her. Nothing at _all_ , Ray. _Never_ think that. You're saying what you're saying _because_ you love me. Because you're thinking of _me_ , not of yourself. There are many, many differences between the two of you, Ray, but that would be the most fundamental one: you think about what's best for _me_ , not what's best for you or what you want." He shook his head, his eyes clear and blue in the dim light from the bathroom and the chipped porcelain ginger-jar lamp on the end table by the bed. Wrinkled brow, clear eyes -- Fraser was so damn transparent.

"But I'm still dropping a bomb on you, Benny," Ray looked away from that too-clear gaze. 

"Not really, Ray." The detective threw him an irritated, inquisitive look. Fraser looked down and finished quietly, "In a manner of speaking, I've been living in a bomb shelter since you left."

Ray Vecchio stood quickly and went to the window. He hung his head. Damned infuriating Mountie. So calm, so patient, so accepting and understanding. And so descriptive.

Why couldn't they have a good shouting match like Ray was used to? Why couldn't Fraser let go and Pow, right in the kisser --like he deserved? Throw the plastic, individually wrapped cups -- better yet, crush them or stomp them to bits? Break an ashtray?

Because it's not in his nature, Ray knew. Because he's never believed in settling things with violence. Because that Big Red bleeding heart, that Great Northern compassion that was Fraser-- was being offered to him, now.

He gritted his teeth with disgust at himself. He didn't deserve it, but he'd take it. Oh, he'd take it alright, he thought bitterly. What else could he do?

A warm hand settled on his shoulder, with just the slightest pressure to turn him around. He turned, but he could hardly look at Benny. Coward, he thought. A furtive glance and Fraser's simultaneously troubled yet calm expression almost made him want to weep. The Mountie reached out a hand, just to cup the side of Ray Vecchio's face, and the detective closed his eyes, his lip beginning to tremble. God, don't let Benny feel it, he begged mentally. But of course the Mountie could feel it. He could still see that reassuring, sympathetic look on Benny's face. What is wrong with him? Sympathy for me?

"Shhhh, Ray. Come back to bed. Let's not waste these moments. We can lie here together until you have to go. Which will be soon. And might be the last time--"

Ray opened his eyes and lifted his cheek out of Fraser's palm. "No, Benny," he whispered through his gritted teeth, knowing it was pointless, knowing he was being a hypocrite. "It doesn't have to be the last..." he trailed off. 

But of course it was the last time. Even if they found the times and places for future trysts, a line had been crossed. It couldn't be uncrossed. And though he hypocritically held the door open for future meetings, of course they would never be the same as before. Not now. Not after this. And neither he nor Benny would want them to be any other way than the way they had been. Anything else would be pure lust, simple animal drives. Using each other. 

Damn it. Damn it to hell. Damn his dear sweet old mother, her faithful viewing of Mother Angelica, his family's sharp nose for scandal, his sister's big mouth, damn Father Morelli, damn communion and all those saints. Damn himself for being such a coward in the face of all those, all those unreal people and things. Damn the precinct for looking the other way and not seeing the macho, fag-bashing beat cops.

"Fraser--"

"Ray--"

A moment, and the heat welling between the two of them, both naked to the waist, crested up and over in Ray Vecchio's turbulent thoughts. He threw himself into the Mountie's arms, grabbed Fraser's head between his hands, and tried to put into his kiss all his anger; his frustration; his longing; his undercover time away; the dreams of Benny he'd had; the old nightmares of being found out by his family, by his fellow cops; the new nightmares of being found out by his undercover Mob brethren; his sorrow; his lust; his scary-sexy feelings from the first few times he put the moves on Benny; the sweetness with which he remembered Benny's first shy overtures; and the sheer desire to drown out all of those things, all thought and all feeling, with the one true thing: how he could make Benny feel, and how Benny could make him feel. 

In the end, that was all they had, all they'd ever had. It was the one thing they could capture, capture but never hold onto, that seemed endless while it was happening, too fleeting just after it ended, and almost as if it had never happened when they were apart. That's the way, Ray figured, the way Nature gets you to do it again. If you could hold onto that feeling, if you could remember it and _feel_ what it felt like, while you were remembering... 

You'd never be driven to do it again. 

And that feeling of the power to please, and to surrender to pleasure, of conquering his lover, and submission to his lover's desires-- Of leaving his body, only to return to it grunting, sweating and near exploding-- Only to leave it again and feel entwined and slowly, quietly drifting mentally with Benny, even as they moved at their most furious pace, as if their souls could rise out of them and blend into each other like smoke-- That feeling was right now what Ray Vecchio wanted more than anything else in the world. And that feeling was, in the end, the only thing he could really give Benny, and the only thing Benny could really give him. 

They fell to the bed, Ray nearly frantic to finish disrobing his Mountie, Fraser mostly his usual relaxed and passive self. But there was an edge of resistance to Fraser's caresses, as if he were holding Ray away from him, and holding himself back. A new level of reserve, of politeness, of the typical willingness to please Ray first and himself later. Or perhaps an attempt to begin pulling away now, to minimize the pain, not realizing this would simultaneously minimize the pleasure. Ray nearly broke Fraser's zipper trying to get it completely unzipped, nearly ripped his jeans trying to get them off. He dragged the Mountie's briefs down and roughly grabbed the tumescent cock, pumping it almost painfully, his tongue nearly down Fraser's throat. 

Fraser stiffened completely in his hand, moaning breathlessly under him. Yeah, Benny, yeah. This time... unforgettable. I'll make it unforgettable. I'll burn us into your brain and mine. With a fierce shove, he pushed Fraser down completely on the bed, and threw himself on top. He bit the Superman-like jaw, and sucked roughly on his earlobe. The Mountie's stomach and cock pushed against him involuntarily, back arched in helpless response to the ticklish sensation. 

Fraser fumbled at Ray's buckle, but Ray pushed his hands away. He held them by their wrists, and kissed down the side of Fraser's neck. Again, he felt the involuntary arching against him. Good. As he kissed down his Mountie's muscled chest, he glanced up at Fraser's face. Benny's jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with desire and bewilderment. Almost at Fraser's navel, Ray suddenly slowed down.

Now he teased Fraser's innie belly-button with his tongue, and then blew on the wet trails left behind. He still held Benny's wrists clamped at his hips. He felt them strain in his grasp, a suppressed shudder. The heat and musky scent emanating from the rock hard cock just below his chin were tempting to bury his face in, but Ray held back. He breathed in that scent -- simultaneously the generic scent of cock, just like Ray's own scent -- and yet somehow uniquely Fraser's cock. If they blindfolded me in a room full of men, I could find Fraser just by his scent, he thought. He kissed the left hipbone, kissed the right. Felt the tendons in Fraser's wrists bunch as his fists clenched with excitement. 

Ray licked the lovely crease that ran from just below Benny's perfect hipbones to the dark, scratchy fur at the base of his cock, at his balls. The Mountie lurched beneath him, as ticklish there as he had been the very first time. The dry heat of Fraser's cock warmed Ray's cheek. He made his tongue into an arrow and licked the same crease on the opposite side, pressing the point deep into that sweet furrow. He was rewarded with delightful twitches and spasms. Benny's cock bobbed against his other cheek now. 

"Ray--" Benny gasped.

"What..."

"Please, Ray, I'm very sensitive there--"

"Mmmmmm-hmmmm." He softened his tongue now and slipped it between Fraser's hard thighs, slipped it under his balls. Ray's knees, between Fraser's calves as he knelt over the Mountie, thrust outward to force Benny's legs apart.

"Ray..."

"Relax, Benny," Ray Vecchio growled. "Just do that weird yoga breathing thing you do, and relax." He knew the buzzing of his voice, deep with desire, against the Mountie's balls, was driving Fraser crazy. Ben's wrists bunched and strained in Ray's tightening grasp, and Ray knew he'd have to let go of them soon, if only to further increase the pleasurable torment. But for now he just gently sucked one testicle into his warm, wet mouth. "Mmmmmmmm," he murmured around it, and Fraser's wrists broke free as he was releasing them. But they only bunched in the sheets as Ray further thrust his knees apart, forcing Fraser's thighs wide.

You knew it was a sleazy motel when the vending machines had candy, pop and sex aids. But the "one serving" packets of lubricant did come in handy. Ray reached over and snatched one off the end-table. He ripped it open with his hand and teeth, squeezed half into his hand, and dropped it on the bed next to Benny.

Ray's lubricated hand wrapped tightly around the top of Benny's cock. He jacked him off, slowly and with much pressure. The flat stomach of his lover trembled before his eyes. Ray lowered his strokes, and sucked the other ball into his mouth. 

"Mmmmmmmmm," he breathed once more, feeling the vibrations of his excited lover's body. He sucked on them gently, letting Fraser feel them gently pop free of his mouth as he pulled it away. The Mountie moaned through gritted teeth, shaking. Ray continued stroking Fraser's beautiful cock. He grabbed the half-full packet of lube, held it in his teeth, and squeeze-pulled the remaining slick stuff into his left hand. He tried to make sure his first two fingers got most of it. 

Then he sucked those lovely balls into his mouth again. This time, it was a bit more difficult, as they were tightening and pulling up with excitement. He swirled his tongue around them again and again, trying to apply soothing strokes while he simultaneously stroked Fraser's cock faster. Then he slid his left hand between Benny's thighs, under the balls he was mouthing like grapes, and stroked the sweet, tender opening with his lubricated fingertips. Fraser hardened even more, veins and ridges standing out in even greater detail under Ray's strokes. Ray rubbed the ring of muscle gently, rhythmically, feeling it twitch and tighten automatically. 

He sensed the Mountie's deepening relaxation. It was as if a great, huge sigh came off the Mountie's body, though nothing changed except a slowing of his breathing. But Ray knew that the simple slowing and evening out of Benny's breathing was a sign that he was near delirious with pleasure and trying not to come too soon. He sucked harder on Fraser's balls, tugging them away from the body, and slipped the tip of his finger in. Then he pulled it out and slipped it back in, just the tip, over and over, slowly. Fraser shuddered. His breathing was even, but his knees came up as he dug his heels into the bed. 

Now the tips of both fingers entered and retreated. Fraser was relaxing, opening to him. It wasn't as tight as Ray expected \-- he wouldn't go there, didn't want to know, maybe Fraser was learning to lie -- but it was still fairly snug. He withdrew his fingers completely, then plunged them both deeply in. 

The Mountie's body lurched. Ray swirled a few more tongue strokes on Benny's testicles, and then moved up to his cock. Ray reduced the effective length of his strokes to just graze the ridge of the head, and timed his strokes with the probing of his fingers. He stroked the inner gland, and wetly settled his mouth on the head of Fraser's cock. He tasted flesh and the sweetness of the glycerin lubricant. At least it wasn't flavored too.

"Ray--" A strangled gasp escaped Benny. 

"Shhhh, shhhh, Benny," Ray paused in his sucking, and then continued on. Fraser's iron thighs trembled. Good. His control of his breathing slipped and the Mountie began to pant. Ray increased the speed of all his moves, including his mouth, and felt Fraser tighten, squeezing his fingers. He slowed suddenly and felt a spasm shake Fraser from the inside out. 

"Please..." The Mountie begged, his legs lifting and spreading. Ray could actually _hear_ the creaking sound of the sheets being bunched and squeezed in Benny's fists.

"Shhhhh, soon," Ray paused to whisper, then gradually increased all rhythms until again he felt all of Fraser tensing. And then he stopped all movement.

"Raaayyyyyy..." Fraser crooned, voice shaking.

"Okay, okay..." Ray fumbled with his open pants, only to discover the front of his own briefs soaked by his excitement. He withdrew his fingers from Fraser but only to add a third. He watched the Mountie's right hand creep to grasp that beautiful cock, as he liberated his own from his underwear, and thrust and withdrew his three fingers. 

After one last deep thrust, he withdrew them, and pushed Fraser's knee back even farther and wider. He guided his cock to the hot, wet opening, and after the most deliciously tight resistance, the head slipped inside. 

Now. Finally. This. Yes.

Watching Benny's face, Ray leaned in, thrusting deep into the Mountie. The Canadian's lips tightened momentarily, and then his expression cleared, though his eyes were still squeezed shut tight. Fraser pulled his leg back farther with his free hand, and slowly began to stroke himself in rhythm with Ray's thrusts. God, Ray thought, the beauty of that face, that mouth, those lips pressed together... 

He felt Fraser tighten around his cock, and pumped harder and faster. He held himself off the Mountie at just the right angle, withdrawing all the way, and then slamming back in, knowing Benny liked that: the piercing entry, and Ray hitting the spot, over and over again. Ray felt every inch going in, every inch pulling out, the exquisitely pleasurable friction, the involuntary tightening. He slowed down, but not for very long. 

Soon both were incoherently moaning and gasping. Fraser pumped himself furiously. Ray suddenly felt every minute detail of the entering and the withdrawing. The Mountie spasmed, squeezing Ray hard, and then the unstoppable began. Time slowed and Ray slipped over that edge, feeling the fluid rising out of him, greeting each slow spasm of Benny's with an excruciating spasm of his own. Hot liquid splashed Ray's stomach. 

His mouth hung open, he realized as his spurts became weaker and farther apart, hung open in a dry scream. Fraser moaned and twitched quietly beneath him, still holding his one knee up and back. The Mountie's other hand moved in loose abbreviated strokes on himself, just short of the head. Benny had ejaculated on both their stomachs.

Ray gave one last gasp and moan, and fell on top of Benny. Long ago Fraser had assured him that he wouldn't be crushed beneath Ray's weight, that it wasn't unpleasant or uncomfortable. He kissed his Mountie, his mouth dry from panting, Fraser's dry as well. The Mountie pulled back a moment, did something with his mouth, and then wet, sweet kisses moistened Ray's dry lips. 

"Benny."

"Ray."

They half rolled, still entwined, to lie on their sides. Fraser pulled away to grab his shirt, probably to wipe away the semen, Ray knew. But Ray Vecchio gathered him up in his arms, wouldn't let him wriggle away, wouldn't let him clean up the mess. No. Benny's beautiful mess would be washed away from him soon enough, Ray thought sleepily. Who knows when I'll be so lovely and messy and sticky from him again. 

They slipped into that half-awake/half-asleep state, each aware of each other's breathing, the ticking of the motel radiators, the flushing of a toilet down the hall, the creaking of springs above them... yet perfectly calm, perfectly restful, perfectly content. Ray's last weary thought was whether they had one hour yet, or less, before the clock radio alarm would jerk them back to reality. Soon they were asleep, after drowsily reconfiguring themselves into "spoons". Ray pressed his sticky abdomen against the snowy curve of muscle and bone in front of him. 

\-----------------------------------

Outside, the dark blond man in the black GTO shifted behind the wheel. The car's purring engine and strong heater had almost lulled him to sleep. So he violently snapped the thermostat all the way to the blue, cold side, and turned the vents to blast in his face. He looked up at the dim lamplight glowing from the window of the fleabag hotel. None of the other windows were lit anymore. Just that one. Three AM.

All this way he'd followed Fraser's cab. This far south on Cicero Avenue, still in Chicago, the cheap motels by Midway airport gave way to the four-hour nap motels farther north by the race track and the public housing and crack houses just off I-55. All this sleaze, just north of another pocket of Polacks, west of the Lithuanians. West of what used to be the stock yards, where Dad had worked.

Not long after Fraser had disappeared inside, an impossibly dark, black limousine had pulled up. A guy in a suit that probably cost more than Ray Kowalski's entire wardrobe had stepped out, with a giggling, short-skirted bimbo in tow. A year ago, Ray would have noticed her legs and high heels. Now, she was barely a blip on the radar.

Kowalski had waited a prudent amount of time. Let them get settled into whatever the hell they were doing. At first he'd thought it must be a case Fraser was working. But why wasn't he in on it? He was Fraser's partner, after all. Why wouldn't Fraser have told him about it? But then, Fraser sometimes didn't show his cards until he was certain he had something to show. 

So Kowalski had waited patiently. Then he'd gone into the lobby to slip the manager twenty bucks for the room number. Another twenty and a flash of the badge had gotten him which side of the motel the room's window faced out of. He had slunk up the back stairs to listen at the door, only to find the bimbo passed out on the green velvet sofa by the elevators on the second floor. One too many Screwdrivers sat next to her on the end table. 

By then, he was losing the feeling of guilt for following Fraser... and beginning to think he was onto something.

After a brief listen to the utter silence behind the door (he crouched and pressed his ear to the door, so he wouldn't show up in the fish-eye view from the peephole), Kowalski had snuck back out to his car and drove around to the back of the motel. He sat there, the car idling, eating more gas motionless than it would driving.

Fraser's in the room.

The Mob Suit's in the room too.

The bimbo's asleep on the landing.

He wondered what the explanation for all this was. He clung to the belief that Fraser was on a case. But underneath the mantra-like thought, was a far blacker suspicion. No. It couldn't possibly be. And with a Mafioso? No. Impossible. Fraser was incapable of lying. 

But I've been teaching him how to fib. How to minimize. How to embellish. How to finagle. How to exaggerate. How to understate. How to bluff. 

Waitaminute... Mob Suit? Wasn't Vecchio...? Yeah, but did he and Fraser...?

He thought back. Had Fraser ever said anything, dropped any hints, that he and Vecchio...? Not that Ray could recall. But then, he never talked about _her_ either, even though she's almost ruined his life \-- or so Kowalski had heard. They'd never discussed her; but just as Fraser had checked up on Ray Kowalski, Ray Kowalski had checked up on Constable Fraser. He knew about Victoria Metcalfe, the permanently shelved, still-open case.

Besides, who else in organized crime would the Mountie meet on the sly? With his principles and ethics? 

Unless he really _was_ on a case.

His jaw set.

Ray Kowalski shifted again, his leather jacket creaking. The blast of cold air from the cars vents woke him up. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Four hour nap.

Just over an hour left to go. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The unofficial sequel to this is [Everything](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2520392).


End file.
